


Dear Darling

by BeyondtheKilljoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondtheKilljoy/pseuds/BeyondtheKilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knew how the world worked. There was Dominants and there were submissives. Well, there were also neutrals and switches, but. It’s just that, from when he was leading Scott on playground adventures, to saving their tails in teenage mayhem, he never expected that he was a sub. </p>
<p>Much less a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Darling

Stiles knew how the world worked. There was Dominants and there were submissives. Well, there were also neutrals and switches, but. It’s just that, from when he was leading Scott on playground adventures, to saving their tails in teenage mayhem, he never expected that he was a sub. 

Much less a little. 

There was nothing wrong with littles, which always were so cute and compliant towards their Daddies and Mommies. Stiles loved them, loved the way they always seemed so innocent in public. But he didn’t think he could be that way. 

So, when he rolled around to age sixteen, and the placement test came in with it’s result, he was shocked. It wasn’t like he actually had to follow what the test said, it was just a guide. Even as he said that, he knew there was an almost null chance of it being wrong. 

“Scott, what did you get?” They were up in his room, Stiles lounging on the bed while Scott did homework in his desk chair. 

The pen stopped scratching. “I told you. I’m a switch.” 

Stiles sat up so he could look at his friend. “I know you told me you were a switch, but what did the test say you were?” 

“The test also said I was a switch.” Scott sighed. When Stiles got on tangents, worrying or wondering, it was hard to deter him. “Are you happy now?” 

“No,” Stiles admitted. He flopped back down. 

“Why?” Scott asked, confused. He was a good best friend, even if he was a tiny bit dense. “What did it say you were?” 

Stiles could feel his cheeks color, his brain already telling him to lie and his mind saying it must have been wrong. There was no way he could be a malleable, obedient little. He rolled on his side away from Scott.

“Dude, come on.” The chair scooted closer. “Stop being so childish.” 

That made Stiles heat up all over. He flung himself up and yelled, “I am not being childish!” 

Scott looked shocked, and Stiles just wanted to cry. He was miserable because of the stupid placement assessment. “Stiles,” Scott took on a low voice, one full of seriousness. “What did it place you as?” 

“A little, okay?” Stiles snapped back. “Someone who finds another person to take care of them their whole life and tell them what to do so they can just be like dolls! I can’t be that - I’m not that, so I don’t know what I am, but the test says I’m a little.” 

Stiles was on the edge of the bed now, almost leaning over onto Scott’s chair, when Scott pulled him in for a hug. “Hey,” Scott started. “If it bothers you this bad, talk to your dad about it. I mean, he’s a Dom. He should know what to do.”  
\--  
Talking to his dad landed him a session with a Placer. Their jobs were basically to ensure that people were certain that they enjoyed what they did, and knew what it meant to do them. Oh, and to help confused people figure out what they were. 

A lot of times, it was switches and neutrals that came here. Not littles.

But Stiles had given up after a heated fight with his dad, who claimed he just wanted to make sure Stiles could find someone he’d want to be with and would be happy in a relationship with. Ultimately, his dad said it was his choice to show up at the appointment or not, but the look in his eyes could easily melt into disappointment so Stiles found himself Tuesday evening parked outside the Placer office. 

Stiles tried to look at it from a positive light - it would show that he wasn’t a little. But showing up here, it was like admitting defeat. Like, if he didn’t know who he was already, it was something to be ashamed of. 

He got out of the car anyway, and headed up to the door. There were a few teens, or young twenty-somethings sitting in the waiting room, but most of them were middle aged adults. It surprised Stiles - did this many people jump into a relationship only to discover it wasn’t what they wanted? Or what they needed? 

The receptionist was friendly enough, giving Stiles the paper he had to fill out with a smile and explaining how everything that went on was confidential. Her kindness and willingness to help him relaxed him, when he noticed the dark leather cuff on her wrist. Of course the receptionist was a sub. 

It didn’t take long to fill out his information, most of it having the same gist as papers that he had at the ADHD doctors. He spent the rest of the time playing a word puzzle game on his phone. It was fun, even if it was a tad simplistic. 

Stiles almost missed it when they called him. 

It was the same girl waiting for him at the door as there was at the desk. Valiere. He smiled at her as he walked past. “Okay, Stiles, you’re going to be doing a session with Dr. Hale, and he is the second to last door on the right.” 

Stiles blinked at her, wondering if there was going to be any examination or if he just went on back to where the Placer waited. “Is that it?” He ventured. 

She was looking down at some papers, but smiled up at him when he spoke. “Oh, yes, I was just supposed to tell you where to go. By the way, if you enjoy the session, we can schedule another one with Dr. Hale and if you don’t, we can try a different Placer if you’re okay with that.” 

He nodded, not sure what she meant if he ‘enjoyed’ the session. Wasn’t it just like therapy? You sit on the couch and talk about your feelings? Stiles walked away from her, turning right to a short hallway. 

The overall building was nice, with pale blue wallpaper and light, elevator music filtering through the speakers. It was a type of quiet that never settled well with Stiles, so he was glad that he wasn’t super twitchy at the moment. 

When he got to the second to last door, labeled B-7, he knocked quickly and waited for a response. “Come in,” A male voice spoke. 

Stiles stepped in, somewhat surprised that his Placer was male, because he always pictured females doing the job. However, the Placer was definitely male, with a trimmed beard and strong stature. He sat in a chair at the far of the room, his blue eyes on Stiles as he came into the room. 

The room itself had green paint on the walls, and a brown carpet. There was a couch on one wall, and a table facing it against the other. There were two chairs, comfortably large looking, at the far wall. One on which his Placer set. 

“Hi,” Stiles blurted out. The Placer smiled, standing up. He wore a long-sleeve V-neck with loose black pants. It looked good on him, Stiles had to admit. 

He walked over to Stiles quickly, extending a hand. “Hello,” He said softly. “My name is Dr. Peter Hale, but while you’re here, you can call me Peter.” 

Peter. A man with electric blue eyes that seemed to be inspecting Stiles down to the bones. 

“I’m Stiles.” 

Peter smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Stiles. I assume this is your first ever session?” 

Stiles nodded. “Well, there’s no need to be worried. I’m just here to help you, if you’ll let me. Why don’t we sit?” He gestured all around the room, and though Stiles’ eyes landed on the couch, Peter had sat on the seats. 

So that’s where Stiles went, and when he looked up to affirm it with Peter, he saw that he had managed to please the older man. Peter settled back into the other chair and looked at Stiles curiously. 

Stiles let the silence tick on for a minute, before realizing that Peter was waiting for him to speak. “Um, I don’t know what you want me to say?” Stiles asked him. “Is this supposed to be like therapy?” 

Peter laughed. Stiles would have been offended, if it didn’t sound like he genuinely thought Stiles didn’t have a clue. “I apologize, I haven’t taken on an actual ‘new’ person in quite a long time. I want you to say what’s on your mind - which, I guess it makes it something like therapy. There is a difference though,” Peter sounded serious then. “You are not here because something is wrong with you - you are here to help learn yourself.” 

The way he phrased it help to put Stiles at ease, like he was making sure that he knew that Peter didn’t think lesser of him for needing or wanting this. “Well, I was placed as a little.” Stiles began. 

“I can see that,” Peter allowed. 

Stiles locked his eyes on the Placer, who looked so certain in his judgement. He gazed back at Stiles, an open expression on his face. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you came in very timidly, you chose to sit where I sat to make me happy, and you act very young. It could be just a sub quality, but I could easily see it as you being a little. Are you not happy with that placement?” Peter’s words slowed during the last question. 

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know, maybe?” He admitted. “It just seems like all of them are kind of...mindless. They all look really adorable and seem to worship their Dominant but,” 

“You don’t think that’s you?”

“I’m not mindless.” Stiles cut him a look. Peter raised his eyebrows at him for a moment, a soft smile forming on his lips. Stiles glanced away, feeling a blush forming. 

“I never said you were, Stiles.” He apologized. “You actually seem quite sharp.” 

“Thanks, I guess.” Stiles felt that burn of pride deep in him, when anyone complimented him on something he worked hard on. “But, no, I don’t think I could be the sweet little, who follows all of their Dominant’s orders and loves stuffed animals and pull-ups.” Stiles looked down at his lap while saying this, feeling oddly huffy. 

Peter let out a sigh of a laugh. “You’re scared to be treated like a baby?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles stared at him, shocked that he was able to put Stiles’ emotions into words. 

“A good Dominant - even a Mommy or Daddy - wouldn’t treat their sub lesser unless that’s what they wanted. Not all littles are so little that they were pull-ups or like stuffed animals.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked quickly. “I mean, I know some don’t wear trainers, I can see that when I see one in public, but I thought that was a thing that happened.” 

“It is a thing, but like all relationships, it’s if both partners want it. You know why the placement test is in place, right?” Peter gently asked. 

“Happy people make a happy world.” Stiles responded. The logo was branded everywhere and so far it worked. Ever since it came into play, and people could stop questioning what they were and what they wanted, things had quieted down. There was less chaos in the streets, a calmer way of doing things. 

“So why would you be placed in a category that would make you unhappy?” Peter questioned.

Stiles has to pause at this, to think of an answer that would make sense or accept defeat. His fingers tapped against his thigh while his brain whirred up a response. “It wouldn’t, but maybe it didn’t get a good read on me?” Stiles offered up. It was a thin excuse, the best he had, and he hurried onward when he saw Peter’s disbelieving expression. “I mean, I just know that the two most loyal submissive groups are slaves and littles and I can’t even follow half of my Dad’s orders - and he’s a Master - so how would I be able to follow my Dominant’s orders? How could I be a little if I hate having to follow instructions?” Stiles was looking away from him again, uncomfortable in the intensity of his gaze. 

“Not all littles are Daddy’s little submissive.” Peter said softly. “Have you heard of sub categories?” 

“You mean like pet or slave?” Stiles was going to list others but Peter was already shaking his head.

“I mean like within that. Like a pain, domestic or sex slave. All types fall under slave, but they fit for different people.” Peter paused.”You’re very smart, right, Stiles? Why don’t you go home and look up different types of littles, tell me what you find.”

Stiles whipped his head to the clock, an hour had already passed. “It’s over?” 

“Yes, it’s over.” Peter smiled, standing. Stiles made a move to stand too, but Peter pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Oh, and I may not be your Dom, but I am one.” He cupped Stiles’ jaw with his other hand and forced his face up to look at Peter. “And I would appreciate if when a sub like yourself spoke to me, they looked at me. Do you understand?” 

Stiles nodded, feeling the spots where Peter had touched him like fire when he released him. “Good.”   
\--  
“A brat.” Stiles was back again, next Tuesday evening, this time having walked in after hearing the standard come in and sitting down. He was staring Peter right in the eye as well, mindful of his request from the last session. It seemed like a lot of what he had read applied to littles he had seen - with very few articles even touching on brats. 

Peter smiled, nodding his head. “Very good, Stiles. Do you think that fits you better than the stereotype of a little?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I guess, I mean, I still don’t think I like the whole idea of baby shows and coloring and stuffed animals.” 

“But that’s not what makes a little.” 

“But it’s part of being a little.” Stiles challenged. Then, he realized who he was talking to - a Placer, who had probably dealt with multiple littles. “Isn’t it?” 

Peter shook his head slightly. Stiles felt his heart lurch with something intense - hope? Happiness? He wasn’t sure. “No, a little is someone who could be anywhere from around age five to age twelve. They don’t have to like mac n cheese art and glitter and Dora.” 

“But what about how littles suck binkies and wear onesies?” Stiles was following most off of stereotype. 

“That’s a type of little yes - but those are usually known as babygirls or babyboys.” Peter explained. Stiles was beginning to feel more comfortable about being labeled a little, but still didn’t think it would fit him. “So you don’t like playing any sort of games?” 

Peter’s sharp left in conversation startled Stiles. “I mean, I have puzzles and building games on my phone like everyone, but if you’re talking about hide and seek, or something elementary like that, no.” 

“Did you have a Gameboy when you were younger, Stiles?” 

“Have a Gameboy?” Stiles said, incredulous. “Have? I still own one, and play it faithfully.” 

“Wouldn’t you say that’s something a younger boy would do?” Peter asked innocently. As Stiles started to observe him, he realized what he was doing.

“It’s not just something for younger boys!” Stiles felt his hands tighten in his lap. Plenty of guys from school had Gameboys still, right? It wasn’t like Stiles knew, because, hell, who did he really talk to? He suddenly remembered how on every road trip, every spend-the-night with Scott, when he’d pull out his Gameboy just to receive a laugh and a ruffle of his hair from the other. 

It wasn’t like that. 

Was it? 

Suddenly there was a strong hand wrapped around his wrist. Peter flexed down on his pulse, hard. It made Stiles relax his hand, made him gasp. It felt like he didn’t have enough air in his lungs, and that’s when he realized he was panicking slightly. 

“Breathe, Stiles.” Stiles did as he was told, reflexively, instinctively. It was almost like when his dad would talk him out of panic attacks.

“Yes, sir.” Stiles mumbled, his head a jumble. Was it like that? Was he scared of being a little, not because he knew what it was, but because he just assumed he knew? His mind swirled around thoughts of Legos and action figures and sleep overs and comic books. Of how Scott would just nod and go along, but how he lit up doing those things. How happy and disconnected from the world he felt. 

Was it like that?

 

Peter’s hand tightened over his flesh again, but Stiles wasn’t sure what for. He had so many questions, but he didn’t even feel like he could talk at the moment. “I think we’ve covered enough this session.” Peter said, tightly. 

He didn’t seem upset, but instead very wound up. His eyes, which Stiles hadn’t been avoiding for the past five minutes but rather was dazing away from them, were locked on Stiles. He felt like he was the only person in the world, it was dizzying. Like he was the only person that mattered. 

Stiles nodded, slightly exhilarated by Peter’s gaze. “Okay.”  
\--  
Stiles had no idea why he was calling. He had no idea what he was going to say, when the receptionist picked up. He might just hang up. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. 

But, before he had decided either way, a voice was answering through. “Hi, this is Juann.” A soft, male voice said. “You’ve reached Beacon Hills Placement Transition and Advisement facility. How can I help you?” 

“Is Peter--” Stiles coughed. “Is Dr. Hale busy?” 

“Are you one of his clients?” Stiles felt a hot flash of something when Juan said clients, but he bit down on it hard. 

“Yes.” Stiles said quickly, an anxious feeling bubbling in his gut.

“Okay, name?” 

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” There was the sound of a keyboard on the other end, and Juan humming. 

“Yes, I see you right here, Mr. Stilinski. Let me check to see if he’s busy, or with another client at the moment, and then I will transfer you right over.”

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, practically curling in on himself while he waited. The line dialed out as it was transferred. He tried his best to tap down on the onslaught of emotions that he felt, the two main ones being scared and anxious. 

“Dr. Peter Hale.” An almost medical tone greeted Stiles, but it was Peter’s voice. Stiles released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, the ball of yarn in his stomach untangling. 

“Peter,” He breathed out. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say yet, not even sure why he called. It wasn’t like he needed anything. He just wanted to hear Peter’s voice. 

“Stiles?” Peter’s voice took on the familiarity of the office space, more person than doctor, more man than Dom. “How can I help you?” 

“Um.” Stiles hesitated, remembering last night before he went to bed. It wasn’t why he called, but it could be his excuse. But did he want to use it? Yes. Stiles took a deep breath. And no. 

“I was wondering…” Stiles dragged out his words, leg shaking as he stood. “Do all of our sessions have to just be talking?” He bit his lip at that, a blush forming across his cheeks as he realized how he phrased the question. 

“What do you want them to be like?” Peter asked carefully, his tone giving nothing away but professional curiosity. 

What Stiles really wanted was what made him scared. “Like, do you guys have things that could help a sub realize if their Placement is right?” 

“Are you,” Peter paused. “Are you asking if the facility has toys?” 

“Not like - not like, toys.” Stiles blurted out. “I don’t mean anything sexual!” It had all become too awkward, the blushing virgin suddenly feeling like a bumbling baby who shouldn’t even be having this conversation. “Sorry, Ihavetogo.” Stiles hit end before Peter could respond, feeling better and worse at the same time.   
\--  
He didn’t have to go in. He did not have to go in. Stiles could turn his Jeep around right at that moment and pretend that he forgot.

But even as he thought it, something tugged in his chest to walk up to the glass door. He didn’t want to go, but it was like he had to see Peter. What was he going to tell him? 

Valiere was there, again, with her hair trimmed shorter. A lot shorter. It was just below her ears now. She smiled when she saw him, waving him up and away from his usual seat. “Dr. Hale said to send you in when you came.” 

Stiles felt his stomach drop, like he had done something oh, so wrong. He hated the feeling, how tiny it made him feel. Valerie looked at him kindly, face open, searching his. Hopefully his dread wasn’t plain on his face. 

He settled for nodding, and turning quickly to go towards the back. He felt bile slick on the back of his throat, because he had messed up. He had pushed the boundaries, all because he wanted to hear Peter’s voice, and to talk to the man. Stiles would just have to apologize. 

That’s all he could do. His hand rested close to the door knob, and he squared his shoulders. He lifted his arm to knock softly. 

“Come in,” was the immediate response.

Any and everything Stiles would have said was thrown out the window when he walked in. Peter sat on the couch, and on the floor...there must have been at least three crates of legos, and cool looking space puzzles, and--

“Is that a Captain America action figure?” Stiles cried out. It was surrounded by plenty of other legendary heroes - Spiderman, the Hulk, Ironman, Batman - but it caught his eye. He should have said something to Peter, maybe even a hello, but the first thing he did was sink to the carpet to look at all of it.

The action figure was able to bend at the forearm and knees, and when pressed in the back, the shield arm sprang forward. Stiles was glad it didn’t talk - those were annoying. He sat there for a few moments, figuring out all that the heros could do. Every time he found their weapon as it sprang forward, he made little fighting sounds to accompany it, just to let the hero know that yes, Stiles knew they could fight. 

“You can make them some buildings to protect out of the Legos.” Peter suggested behind him. Stiles whipped around to see the man watching him, a small smile formed on his lips. 

“I can?” Stiles had forgotten about the Legos, caught up in the neat action figures. Peter nodded, which made Stiles smile so wide. Peter made him so happy, how nice he was. Stiles should let him know sometime. 

Instead, he dragged one of the crates over to him, spilling out the contents. It took awhile for him to make a small town, just the way he wanted it, with Ironman’s building in the center. Which meant everyone had a place to live except Batman. 

Stiles looked around again, to see Peter still watching him, and he got an idea. He jumped up to his feet, running - more or less stumbling - over to the couch to grab the other cushion. “What are you doing, Stiles?” Peter asked calmly, letting Stiles struggle to get the cushion out of place. 

“I’m making the batcave!” It was obvious to Stiles. He just needed to pull a little harder to get the --

“The cushions are tied onto the couch.” Peter reached out to stop him, gently touching his arm. Stiles moved back. “Let me untie it for you.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded, waiting. He didn’t like waiting, but he really needed the cushion, and Peter was so nice. He smelled so nice and looked so nice and was helping. 

It came free a few moments after Peter started working on it, and he displayed it towards Stiles. Stiles grinned, a happy sound bubbling from his throat. “Thank you, D--!” He said happily. He knew he had to block the last word, but he wasn’t sure why. 

It didn’t seem like it mattered so much to him at the moment. 

He grabbed it before he had a chance to let his mouth run away, and darted over to the big chairs. It leaned up against one, just big enough to be a batcave. Batman flew over to it, Stiles making the wind sounds for him, to be broody. 

Stiles had to dart between Batman and the others, multiple times, so no one felt left out. His knees started to feel a little sore, but it was okay, because Batman promised he’d come out of his cave and help save the town because he was Batman. It was only after they had saved the town, with everyone cheering, that Peter spoke up again.

“Stiles,” He looked in the direction of Peter, who he had forgotten was there. 

Stiles opened his eyes wide, showing he had his listening ears on. “Yes, sir?” 

Something flashed across the Peter’s face, too quick for Stiles to understand. It was okay though - Peter was amazing, and he had brought him toys, and told him everything he needed to know. Peter would let him know if it was important. 

“It’s time to go.” He said gently.

Stiles felt himself deflate, tears springing to his eyes. He was having so much fun though. He didn’t want to go home yet.

He wanted to stay here, with Peter.

“Do I have to?” Stiles sniffled. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Peter said ruefully. 

Stiles looked around at his things, all scattered on the floor, and his perfect town and batcave. “Can I take it with me?” Stiles begged.

Peter looked at him softly, like he was trying to decide. Stiles felt his lip jut out, as he fell into full on pout mode. Please, please. Peter wouldn’t take something good from him, not unless he had to. 

“One thing.” 

Stiles brightened up, because now he could take Captain America home with all his others, and they could play together. He bet the other Avengers would be happy to see their captain. But he also wanted Batman.

“Can’t I have two?” He pressed.

“I said one.” Peter responded sternly.

“But--”

Peter folded his arms. “You can either keep one, or you won’t get anything at all.”

Stiles clutched Captain America to his chest, curling in on it. He nodded his head, he understood. Something loosened in Peter, and he gazed more kindly towards Stiles. “Do you want me to drive you home?” 

“Yes, please!” He would get to spend more time around Peter, who was okay with him playing with his toys. And Peter would talk to him, because he was awesome. He wanted to be around him more.

“Okay.” Peter smiled. He was so pretty. Stiles automatically smiled back. 

He was shooed out of the room, and out the back door, at the end of the other hallway. “But, but I came in the other way.” Stiles protested, somewhat remembering that he came in that way. He also remembered being upset, but it seemed so far away now, with his fingers clutched around Captain America and in breathing area of Peter.

“I know, but my car is this way.” 

“We’re taking your car?” Stiles asked. Peter just nodded, which got Stiles excited. Peter was so nice. 

“I’ll have someone bring your car to your home.” Peter said. “Is that alright?” 

Stiles nodded, not minding in the least. If he got to be around Peter, then it was okay. Peter would make sure he was okay. His car made Stiles jump excitedly for a few minutes, because it was so cool looking. It was silver and looked super fast like a bullet. 

Peter got him into his seat easily enough, even if Stiles wanted to touch everything. “It’s so cool! Look at how cool it is!” Stiles remarked multiple times.

Peter laughed. “I know how cool it is, Stiles. I drive it everyday.”

“That’s right.” Stiles breathed out, envious of Peter. He had an awesome car. He had an awesome everything.

He also liked to go fast, which was cool. Stiles enjoyed watching the trees pass by, humming to himself. He didn’t even feel jittery, existing in a punch-drunk state. “Did you enjoy today?” Peter asked after a few minutes.

“Yes, I really did. That’s really neat that you have that stuff to help. I liked it so much.”

 

“I’m glad you did.” Peter didn’t say anything about Stiles pressing his face against the glass to get closer to the speed. “Do you know why I’m taking you home?” 

“Because you want me to be safe?” Stiles guessed. 

“I do want you to be safe.” Peter said softly. “But it’s because you’re not okay to drive right now.” 

Stiles felt himself flare up at that. “I could totally drive! I got my license…” he paused, counting the numbers out on his fingers. “This many months ago!” He splayed out ten fingers, and then five more after closing his hands, holding them close to Peter’s face. 

“You’re in your headspace right now.”

“Headspace?” Stiles recognized the word, but he wasn’t too concerned with it. He only wanted to enjoy the time he had with Peter, and go home and play with his action figures and make popcorn and maybe play his Gameboy. 

“It’s how you’re feeling now.” Peter said. “I’ll explain more later.”

“I like how I feel now.” Stiles responded, just to make sure that Peter knew he wasn’t feeling bad. Peter would make sure he wasn’t feeling bad, because he was so great. 

“That’s good, Stiles.” They were quiet until they pulled up to Stiles’ house. He wondered if Scott would come play swords with him. 

“Thank you!” Stiles said happily, because it was nice. It was always nice around Peter. 

Peter smiled over at him. “You’re welcome. Let me know about your week when you come in again.”

That was a whole week away. “Can’t I see you before then?” Stiles pouted.

Peter’s face closed off for a second, before his expression settled into blank professional. “You might see me before then, maybe.” There was a lilt in his voice that made Stiles hopeful. 

“I like seeing you.” Stiles admitted, pulling himself out of the car. 

It seemed like Peter was just going to drive away after Stiles closed the door, but he rolled down the window. “I like seeing you, too, Stiles.” He said kindly, before pulling out.

It made Stiles feel warm.  
\--  
Stiles knew what “patient” meant. He knew it very well. But if Scott didn’t pick up his phone this time, Stiles was driving over to his house. It was the seventh time that he had called, for Christ’s sake.

“Hello?” Scott’s voice was heavy with sleep.

“Scott, I’ve got a question to ask you.” Stiles let his words spill out. 

There was a sigh, and the sound of fabric shifting over the phone. “Don’t you always?” 

“Scott.” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry, dude. Shoot.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Whenever we’d do something I’d like to do - like, play Donkey Kong or Mario Kart, or watch Land Before Time or E.T., or play with action figures, or--”

“Stiles.” Scott sounded strained. “Just tell me what your question is.” 

“What was I like?” 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, confused. 

Stiles sighed. “I mean, did I act normal? Did I seem different?” 

“You seemed calmer.” Scott allowed. “You always seem calmer whenever you’re doing any of that stuff. You also get quieter and happier.” He paused. “Like a kid.” 

“Like a kid.” Stiles deadpanned. 

“Oh,” Scott sounded horrified. “Stiles - I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant, I mean.” His words cut off, his voice choked.

“It’s okay. I just wanted to know.” Stiles said softly. “I think I’m a little.”

“So has the Placement place been good to you?” Scott ventured.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Stiles’ mind flashed to Peter, with his kind eyes, saying he was in his headspace, which still felt very disconnected from the rest of him in his memory. Peter, who made Stiles feel hot. 

“I’m glad.”

Stiles let his eyes flash over to the Captain America that stood proudly on his desk. “So am I.”   
\--  
His dad was the Sheriff. So, it wasn’t like it was hard to find out where Peter lived. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t called the office first to make sure that he wasn’t there. Stiles just wanted to return the action figure, feeling bad for being selfish and asking to take it. It wasn’t his to take, it was the office’s. 

Showing up at the man’s door, the impressive front door of a large home, was easier than Stiles expected. It was like his very body knew that in a second, in a moment, it would back in the presence of Peter. 

Stiles was slightly worried about how attached he had become to the Placer. 

Peter opened the door cooly, obviously not having looked to see who stood at his door. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve V-neck. It made him look unbearably soft to Stiles.

“Stiles,” He blinked a few times, obviously not expecting the seventeen-year old on his doorstep. 

“Peter,” Stiles breathed out, immediately feeling settled. He cleared his throat, realizing how he must of sounded. “I’m sorry, I just came over cause you weren’t at the office…”

Stiles felt overwhelmingly awkward and at a loss of words. 

“It’s okay,” Peter supplied generously. He opened the door wider, stepping aside. “Do you want something to drink?” 

Stiles nodded, moving in like a scared rabbit. His bookbag felt unmeasurably heavy with the justice of Captain America weighing it down. Peter lead him into a large sitting room, with multiple comfortable couches. Stiles stood there, surveying it all, as Peter walked away with a quick, “I’m just getting us some water.” 

A bookshelf made a quick claim on Stiles’ attention, and he drifted towards it. Among it sat books like, “Boundaries,” and “Eleanor and Park” which Stiles had never heard of, mixed in with classical plays and novels, such as, “A Midsummer’s Dream,” and “To Kill a Mockingbird,”. He felt the urge to read the books, to get to know Peter that way, to see how his mind worked and viewed good literature. 

Then he thought of Peter’s calm, steady voice reading it to him. And, well. His palms felt slick.

“I would recommend every one of those on the bookshelf to you for good reading material.” Peter said behind him, causing Stiles to jump. “However, it might take you until you’re my age to finish them.” 

Stiles chuckled nervously, a traitorous voice saying he really wouldn’t mind so much if he had to stay here that long to finish them.

Peter walked gracefully forward, armed extended to give Stiles a tall glass of water. “Thank you,” Stiles dipped his head as he accepted it.

“I rarely take days off, so I”m surprised you called the center instead of just driving up.” Peter said conversationally. Stiles was trying to find a justification, a good reason why he would call, when he had to actually hand something to the man, but Peter continued on before he could. “However, you did call that one time. I always forget you’re new to all this.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, indignant. He had been going for a good four months now. 

“Most of the people that come to Placement… they’ve been in a relationship before. They know how dynamics work, at least more than textbook material.” Peter said gently.

Stiles tried not to feel a punch to his gut. “So you’re saying I do the things I do because I’m inexperienced.” 

He hated that word. It reminded him of so much, like all the things Jackson filled his head with. Unwanted. Not needed. Loser. Pathetic.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Peter tried to soothe him, but Stiles shook his head.

“No, it’s alright.” Stiles knew that Peter didn’t mean it like that, but it still hurt. Suddenly, Stiles needed to be away from him. Not away from Peter, no he wanted to curl up in his arms and forget the words he just said, but away from the conversation. He shrugged off his back pack. “I just came to return the action figure.”

“You remember that session?” Peter asked, surprised. 

Stiles lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “Bits and pieces.” He found it in the front pocket, protected from being crushed at the bindings of knowledge. He held it out to Peter, a feeling clawing at him and telling him to snatch it back. 

Peter took it carefully, slowly, achingly slow, like he was giving Stiles the chance to do what he wanted to. Stiles’ arm shook as Peter pulled it from his palm. He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, when a shrill phone ring rang out. 

He quickly fished his phone out of his pocket. Peter looked at Stiles apologetically. “Wait, please?” Stiles thought it was the first time he had ever heard that word come out of the Placer’s mouth. “I want to talk to you before you leave, but I have to take this.” 

Stiles nodded, trying to ease his emotions. Everything felt too sharp, too bright, too many edges and not enough curves. Peter turned quickly, Captain America captured in his sure fist. 

“Derek? Is Cora okay?” Was what Stiles heard as Peter strode from the room. 

Stiles was never good with a need to distract himself and being left alone in a new environment. So it was okay to survey the rest of the books, or the knick-knacks scattered around the room. 

It really wasn’t okay for him to step into the hallway, and begin looking in rooms.The first was a bathroom, which he could totally snoop in, but Peter probably kept all of his dirty secrets in his personal bathroom. 

Then there was a study room, and the kitchen, and a towel closet. All perfectly regular pieces of a home that just didn’t fit up with Peter. It was all so sleek and shiny, but everything seemed so lifeless. It was like a hollow imitation of what Stiles thought Peter’s home should be like. 

There was one room left, at the far end of the hallway, on the left. It probably wasn’t Peter’s bedroom, and reasoning stated that he was a Dom, so it could be a playroom. But the real question was, was Stiles curious enough?

The answer was a thousand times yes. 

And when the door swang open, when the light filtered in and filled up every shadow, Stiles was shocked. There wasn’t a chain, or cross, or gag in the room. 

It was the toys from the office. And a blue twin bed, with a thousand light-up stars sticking to the ceiling. There was helicopters and trains and small cars. Stiles stared at it all, trying to process it. Trying to understand, to really understand, that Peter brought the toys from home.

That Peter was a Daddy. 

“This stuff always seemed like a good investment when I got it, and I just kept collecting. Even as the years went by and I didn’t find anyone to share any of it with.” Peter was right behind him, which didn’t shock Stiles this time. He just didn’t know if he could turn around and face him. He had gone snooping around in his house and had gotten caught. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I’m very picky,” Peter said dismissively. 

“Oh,” Stiles didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to say anything, like how he almost called Peter “Daddy,” during their last session, or how his presence grounded Stiles. “Why…”

Stiles should have clarified. “It’s a trait some Doms have. Some like just to have a sub, and they can mold them. Others want them to already be molded perfectly by the time they met, because they want to feel like they aren’t changing someone to fit them.”

“No, I meant, why did you bring your toys in?” Stiles had the urge to say his toys, his. Not Peter’s.

“You wanted to play with some, right?” 

“But those are supposed to be,” Stiles took a breath and turned around. Peter looked as guarded, as frightened in the eyes, as Stiles felt. “Those are special.”

“Yes.” 

“And you let me take one.” Stiles glanced down. It still was held in Peter’s hand, loosely, as if Stiles could just lean over and pull it free. 

“Yes.”

“What did you want to talk about?” 

Peter took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. It was a feature of Doms that Stiles was forever jealous of, how they could wipe any doubt, any concern,off of themselves in a heartbeat. “I was going to tell you the playthings were mine. Personally mine, for my own little.

“And, if you wanted, you could keep one. At your house.”

Stiles was chasing down the rabbit hole, Peter blaring obvious and yet so subtle. Stiles could be walking right into a bushel of thorns or into the answer - and he had no idea of telling which was which. “What about the other toys?”

“I suppose you’d have to come over and play with them so they won’t get jealous. But that’s only if you want the other toy.” Peter held it out between them, a promise, an invitation. Everything. 

The plastic was as warm as his heartbeat when he sealed the action figure into his grasp.


End file.
